


The Half-Breed

by theclosetpianist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Harry and his parents are reunited!, Harry finally gets everything he deserves, Inspired by Greek Mythology, James and Lily are alive again!, powerful!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-03-26 11:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19004695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclosetpianist/pseuds/theclosetpianist
Summary: James and Lily Potter awake to their house in ruins and their baby gone. They discover fourteen years has passed. They are hailed as heroes and their son revered as the Boy-Who-Lived. Desperate to find Harry, James and Lily go to Dumbledore but instead of answers they only find more questions. Harry is missing! What was he hiding from the Wizarding World? How were Lily and James alive again? And most importantly, how could they reconnect with a son who didn't even remember his parents?





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. I honestly wasn't sure I was going to post this. I'm honestly just writing this as a distraction from a difficult summer. Please be kind. I know it's not great but I hope you all enjoy anyway. Unfortunately, I don't have a beta so please excuse any mistakes or typos.

The figure stood as still as death, the gentle swaying of his dark cloak in the breeze was the only hint that he wasn’t a statue. The face beneath the cloak's hood was pale and skeletal. The eyes as black as night itself. He stood in front of a small structure. The cottage had once stood proud, but now lay in a dilapidated ruin. He supposed it was left there as a monument, as sentimental as humans were.

He had grown bored. Several millennia would do that to the mind. But the boredom only buzzed like an incessant bee at the back of his mind, overpowered by a deep, burning rage. He had been defied, after all, something that not many people did and lived for too long afterward. And yet, despite his best efforts, that jump-start half-breed continued to dodge his every strike. It was vile, it went against nature itself. Yet, try as he might, the brat still survived. It was insulting, infuriating. Truly a thorn in his side. So, this time he thought he would try something different. He couldn’t kill him, that much was evident, but he could have a little fun along the way. Cure his boredom and teach that little irritation a lesson, give him a taste of what he craved and then rip it from between his teeth. Two birds, one stone, or so the saying goes.

For a moment, he simply looked at the cottage in front of him. Nature had begun to reclaim what had been stolen from her, weeds grew from cracks in the pavement, vines crawled up crumbling, half-burnt walls. And so it goes, as is the natural order of things. Death begets life, destruction breeds rebirth. He allowed himself a small twinge of satisfaction, and he felt his lips curl into a vicious, sharp-toothed smile. Yes, it was a horrible thing, but it was the way it was meant to be.

Letting out a soft sigh, he got to work. Reaching deep inside himself, he grasped a power he seldom touched. Wind whipped around him and bright flashes of light stabbed his eyes. It was not magic; no, it was far beyond that, far older than that. It was divine, it was rebirth, it was creation. It was finally his revenge.

It was done.

All that was left to do was to sit and watch events take their course.

———🖤🖤🖤———

Like a man stranded in a desert finally given a sip of water, James Potter drew in a great, shuddering breath. His lungs spasmed, trying to remember how to function. He choked on a groan, too busy gasping for air to cry out in pain. He hurt; a dull agony gripped his body. His ears rung shrilly, and his vision swam. He tried to stand, but the room flipped beneath his feet, immediately sending him to the floor again. He flopped onto his side in exhaustion and simply focused on trying to get his body under control. He slowly wrestled his breathing from stuttering gasps to deep, drawn breaths. He blinked and rubbed his hazel eyes beneath his glasses, trying to clear his vision. Soon, everything began to slow, a sense of peace after a storm took him over.

James took in his surroundings. He was in his cottage at Godric’s Hollow, but it looked nothing like what he remembered. The house was a mess, half blown apart and covered with dirt, vegetation, and graffiti. He started at the scene around him in bewilderment.

What had happened?

He tried to recall, but his mind seemed doused in a thick fog, his memories slipping through his fingers like mist. The last thing he remembered was fear, horrible, heart-stopping fear. For himself. For his wife. For his dear baby Harry. He felt that same fear take hold once more.

‘Lily, take Harry and go,’ a memory, the voice was his own, ‘it’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!’

Oh, God. Lily! Harry!

James jumped to his feet in a panic. He ran up the half-ruined stairs.

“Lily!” He screamed, throwing open every door in the second-floor corridor. “Lily!”

“James!” He heard his wife’s voice drifting from under the crack of the door to Harry’s nursery, her voice wobbled around her tears.

Wrenching the door open, James saw Lily kneeling on the floor beside the remnants of Harry’s crib, her freckled cheeks coated with tears. The house was in ruin, but this room was by far the worst. The exterior wall had been blown away entirely, scorched marks scarred anything that remained.

“Where is he?!” Lily screamed in hysteria. “Where’s my baby? Where’s my baby!!” James collapsed beside her and swept her into his arms. His heart palpitated with fear. “James!” Lily wailed, nearly incoherent. He wanted to comfort her, but his words caught in his throat. Tears streamed down his face, mirroring Lily.

No, not Harry, he begged silently, beseeching any god who was willing to listen. Not my baby, not my boy! But he knew his Harry was dead. Voldemort had finally killed him. He had failed his son.

James screamed his pain to the starry sky, nearly drowning out his wife wails. Together they simply sat collapsed on the floor, their arms wrapped around each other, wailing, harmonizing in their grief.

“No, no, no,” Lily repeated nonsensically.

“Shh,” James shushed, his voice stuttering around his sobs. He wanted to say that it would be alright, but how could it? Their baby had been murdered.

“I had him,” she cried, “I had him in my arms!” She sobbed harder.

“I know,” he soothed, “I know.” He stroked her hair, ignoring how his hands shook.

“What do we do?” She cried. “James, what do we do?”

James took a moment to collect himself, allowing the Auror calm that had been mercilessly drilled into him to take over. They were at war. They had just been attacked by the enemy. They had to spread the word.

“We have to contact Dumbledore.” He tried to be strong. Lily just moaned. “We have to. He has to know what happened.” He gently shifted his wife in his grasp to free one arm. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand.

“Expecto patronum,” he said weakly. A faint silvery mist leaked from his wand before slowly dissipating. He let out a sob. He swallowed hard and called forth his Patronus memory, the day his little Harry had been born, how tiny he had been in his arms. “Expecto patronum!” He tried again and failed again, watching was the mist faded away. Instead of joy, all he felt was a terrible, heart-shattering despair.

“I can’t do it, Lily. I can’t-” he choked off with a cry. His resolve crumbled and he slumped forward, his wand falling from his loose grip. “No,” he moaned. He felt Lily’s trembling lips press into his cheek.

“Come on,” she said, her voice laced with sorrow and defeat. “Dumbledore is probably at Hogwarts. We can apparate just outside of the wards and walk from there.”

Together they helped each other to their feet and swallowed their tears. James felt the familiar sensation of being sucked through a tube before his feet slammed into hard cobblestone.


	2. Chapter Two

They stood at the head of the Hogwarts Viaduct Bridge which lead up to the courtyard. The giant castle loomed in the short distance, its sharp towers piercing the black sky. Usually, seeing the Hogwarts castle brought a smile to his face, but now he just felt nothing, emptiness. They walked the path feeling as though they were marching toward their doom, tripping on stones in the dark.

James’s thoughts drifted once again back to the cottage. He didn’t even have his son’s body to mourn over. Did Voldemort take him? Was he that sick to steal the body of the baby he just murdered away from its parents? Oh, Merlin, his poor Harry. His baby. His son. He was gone. He was barely a year old! He had his whole life ahead of him! Harry was dead!

Had he suffered? Had Voldemort toyed with him before he finally murdered him? Harry was just a baby! Did Voldemort truly fear the prophecy so much to slay an infant? James prayed that he had simply used the killing curse. As terrible as the Unforgivable was, at least Harry would have died quickly, painlessly. Like drifting off to sleep.

He remembered tucking Harry in every night, his little baby hands wrapping around his father’s fingers, giggling, as James tried to swaddle him in his blanket. He felt pain rise up in his chest, tears stinging his eyes. He quickly pushed away the memory.

He thought of the life Harry could have had, the life that had been cruelly ripped from him. He would never go to Hogwarts. Never see the castle that James had called home for seven years. He would have no adventures, cause no mischief like his father before him. He would send no letters home telling mum and dad all about his classes.

And what about Lily? Merlin, she had been there. She had seen. She had watched. All while James had been lying useless at the bottom of the stairs, unable to protect his family. If only he had fought harder, dueled faster, kept Voldemort at bay even for just a few more seconds, maybe Lily and Harry could have made it out.

“James?” His thoughts were ripped away from his grief and self-flagellation by his wife’s voice.

“Hm?”

“Does it feel,” she hesitated, “warm out to you?”

“Warm?” She was thinking about the weather? _Maybe she’s in shock_ , he thought numbly. _Maybe we both are._

“It’s October, but it feels like summer.”

James went silent for a moment, feeling the air around him. She was right, he realized. It was warm, far too warm for October, especially at nighttime.

“Maybe a heat wave?” He guessed. She hummed noncommittally. They continued their walk in silence.

They reached the end of the bridge and crossed through the courtyard. When he was a student, James had always loved the courtyard, the fresh open air, the soft grass, the chatter of students. It always brought him peace. He felt far from peaceful now.

The courtyard’s large, ornate doors were shut tight for the night. With a wave of his wand, he opened the doors that otherwise would have been too heavy to move by hand. Both Potters cast a quick lumos charm and walked the memorized route to the headmaster’s office and quarters. They dimmed their wands slightly as not to disturb the sleeping portraits that lined the walls as they moved deeper into the castle.

Nothing in the castle had changed. But everything had changed.

About halfway there they ran into a familiar face illuminated by wandlight.

“Minerva,” James spoke softly, cringing at how fragile his voice sounded. “Something terrible has happened, we need the headmaster’s help.”

There were several things he noticed about Minerva McGonagall. First, she looked like she had aged since the last time he saw her. Her soft wrinkles had deepened, and her hair was tinged more with grey. Second, she looked like she had seen a ghost. For a moment, his former professor simply stood there, gawking at them. Her face was sheet white with shock, her jaw hung limp.

Tentatively, James took a step toward her. “Minerva?”

“Who are you?!” She screeched, jabbing her wand viciously in this direction. Her posture was one of a witch ready for battle.

Lily and James gaped.

“Minerva?” Lily yelped. Subtly, James shifted himself between his former professor and his wife, but Lily simply sidestepped and stood at his shoulder. “Minerva, it’s us! Lily and James!” She brought her wandlight closer to her head so Minerva could see her face.

“I know we haven’t been your students in a while, but you can’t have forgotten us already,” James tried to joke, but his voice wobbled with confusion.

“Incarcerous!” Ropes shot out from Professor McGonagall’s wand and bound Lily and James’s arms and legs, forcing them to their knees.

“Professor!” Lily cried incredulously.

“It’s us, Minnie!” I’m James Potter and I once set fire to my desk in Transfiguration class and blamed it on Kowalski.” James said, trying to prove he was not an imposter.

“I’m the one who said it was James!” Lily followed the Order way of identification.

Minerva simply gaped at them in shock.

“It’s not possible,” she whispered.

“Minerva, what’s going on?” Lily asked. “What’s wrong?”

McGonagall didn’t reply, she simply cast a Patronus and sent it off with the instructions to fetch the Headmaster, not releasing James and Lily’s bonds. She quickly levitated them into a nearby classroom to avoid prying eyes and waited.

It didn’t take long for Albus Dumbledore to arrive.

“My dear Minerva, what could be the problem at such a late hour?” He was dressed in a purple nightgown with a matching cap. In lieu of answer, Minerva simply looked at the couple she had in ropes.

James watched as Dumbledore’s gaze shifted from his deputy headmistress to himself and his wife. Dumbledore’s face went pale and his eyes widened. _I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him speechless_ , James remarked to himself.

“They claim to be Lily and James Potter,” McGonagall explained.

“What is a memory that only you and I share?” Dumbledore asked the couple.

“Remus Lupin is a werewolf. Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and I all became animagi to help him with his transformations.” James said with conviction.

“What are your forms?”

“I’m a stag, Sirius is a dog, Peter a rat.”

“Oh, Merlin,” McGonagall whispered. “It must be some sort of trick, Albus. It has to be.”

Dumbledore hummed in thought. “There is one way to tell.” He conjured a piece of parchment and a small cutting knife. “My apologies, my dear,” Dumbledore murmured as he approached Lily. He took her hand, still tied to her side, and made a small incision on her finger, smearing a drop of blood onto the parchment before doing the same with James. He pressed his wand against the paper and mumbled a spell that James had never heard before. McGonagall looked over his shoulder and they both watched as the blood spread to form words.

_“Lily Evans Potter, born Jan. 30, 1960._

_James Potter, born Mar. 27, 1960.”_

“It’s true,” said Minerva faintly.

“Please release them, Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore said quietly, gazing at the two before him with and unreadable expression. With the wave of a wand the ropes holding them captive disappeared. James helped his wife to her feet.

“Please, Professor Dumbledore, what’s going on?” Lily asked. “Has Hogwarts’ security been compromised?”

“First,” Dumbledore held up a hand, “I think we should begin with why you’re here.”

James relayed the night’s events, beginning with Voldemort arriving at their house and concluding when James had woken up to find Harry and Voldemort gone.

“Albus, I don’t understand,” Lily said, “how could he have found us, our house was under Fideli-” she cut off, realization filling her gaze. “Oh, God. Peter.”

James once again felt a wave of anguish crash over him. First his son is murdered, then he finds out it’s because his friend had betrayed him.

“I think,” Dumbledore interrupted gently, “this is a conversation better had in my office with a nice cup of tea.” He snapped his fingers and asked a house elf if he could please bring a pot of Earl Grey to his office. The house elf nodded frantically and disappeared with a crack.

The great wizard led the three up the staircases back to his office. James and Lily followed in numb shock. He could feel the beginnings of a headache burn at the base of his skull. It had been a difficult night.

With a glance at his wife, James could see she was as bewildered as he was.

_Thank Merlin I’m not the only one._

Upon their arrival, James noticed the house elves had already left a steaming, silver pot of tea waiting for them on Dumbledore’s table by the fireplace. Dumbledore conjured enough armchairs for the four of them and invited them all to sit with a pleasant wave of the hand.

“Please, Professor, what’s going on?” James asked, somewhat frantic. The old man let out a soft sigh and leaned forward.

“This will be difficult to hear,” he began, “but I promise it is the truth.” He paused, as if unsure how to continue, and sighed again. “I am so sorry to say, there really is no gentle way to put this, but perhaps simplicity will be a kindness. It has been fourteen years since Lord Voldemort attacked you in your cottage at Godric’s Hallow. Yes, Lily, it was indeed Peter Pettigrew who betrayed you. You both were recovered in the cottage, you had both…passed on before anyone else arrived.”

“We died?” James blinked. “It’s been fourteen years?” His voice was barely audible. Dumbledore nodded gravely.

“And Harry?” Lily asked. “You said that we both were found. What about Harry?” Hope had begun to fill her voice. It was contagious and James felt his own heart swell. Could Harry be alive? A small smile graced Dumbledore’s face.

“It seems the prophecy has held true. Voldemort cast a killing curse on Harry that night, but it rebounded, turning him into nothing but a wraith.”

“He’s alive?” Lily asked, almost unable to believe it.

James and Lily laughed with joy. Their baby was alive. With tears pouring down their faces, they gripped each other’s hands, thanking both God and Merlin alike.

Their two former professors let them have their moment with tears in their eyes.

“He’s a very bright, young boy. Brave and loyal and will do anything to help those in need.” Dumbledore described, watching as the parents hung onto his every word.

“He’s the spitting image of you, James,” McGonagall continued. “Except the eyes, as green as yours, Lily. He’s got your habit for troublemaking, James,” she said with a small laugh, “but always with Lily’s heart.”

The Potters sobbed and babbled their thanks.

“How old is he?” James asked. “Fifteen?”

“Yes, today is the 10th of August 1995.”

“Can we see him, please?” Lily begged, her voice breaking.

“I’m sorry, my dear, you have been dead for fourteen years,” Dumbledore gave them a sad smile. “We must do this gently. I think it best to move you to Grimmauld Place. It is under Fidelius, you will be safe there.”

“We thought we would be safe in Godric’s Hallow.” James said bluntly.

“This time, I am the Secret Keeper.” He turned to Professor McGonagall. “Minerva, if you could, please go to Sirius and Remus and explain to them what has happened.”

Minerva nodded stiffly and grabbed the floo powder. As she vanished in a flash of green flame, Albus poured himself a second cup of tea.

“Why is Grimmauld Place under Fidelius?” James asked. Was Sirius being targeted?

And thus, that one inquiry brought an onslaught of new headaches and more questions. Sirius had escaped Azkaban, falsely imprisoned for Peter’s crime. Twelve years. His dear friend, his brother, had been a prisoner of the Dementors for twelve years. Dumbledore tried to assure him that Sirius had kept his mind, but twelve years was a long time. He knew his friend would be changed.

Sirius had escaped Azkaban, living on the streets in his dog form, trying to catch their traitor. Then, he was kept in Grimmauld Place, a reminder of the nightmare that was his childhood. He had traded one prison for another.

_We can change it_ , James thought, _we can prove him innocent. We can make it right_. James couldn’t give Sirius back the years he had lost, but he could give back his future.

“And Remus?” Lily asked.

Remus was doing well all things considering. He had been a professor at Hogwarts, which made James snort because of course Moony would. Then the curse of the Defense Against the Dark Arts position struck again. Snape, the greasy git, had “accidentally” let it spill to the entire school that Remus was a werewolf, destroying any possibility of him keeping the job. Remus was unemployed again. James worried. Was his friend eating enough? Was he taking care of himself? Did he still have his home?

“Who has Harry been living with since Sirius was imprisoned?”

James immediately felt nervous when Dumbledore remained silent. Lily prompted him again. The old wizard sighed and wilted. James had never seen him look defeated, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, he needed to know what happened to his son.

“Let me preface this with saying when Harry arrived at Hogwarts his first year he looked to be in good health, perhaps a bit thin, but healthy.”

“And before that?” James demanded sharply.

“We don’t know.”

“You don’t know?!” Lily repeated at the same time James shouted, “You lost him?!”

“I had placed him in the care of your sister, Petunia, and her husband.”

“Petunia?!” Lily snarled. James quite agreed with her outrage. What had Albus been thinking leaving Harry with her? The woman _hated_ magic! The headmaster held up his hand for silence.

Dumbledore explained the nature of the blood protection spell placed upon Harry and the need that he stay with a blood relative so the spell remained intact. “But about a week after we had left Harry, I felt the wards fall. I immediately rushed to see what happened and I found the Dursley home in ruins. I’m sorry, Lily, your sister and her family didn’t survive.” He said sorrowfully.

James saw Lily’s face go pale white and she shuddered. He gripped her hand tighter on the chair’s armrest. James had never liked Petunia, but the news of her death shook him as well.

“Harry was gone,” Dumbledore continued. “We tried everything to find him, but something was blocking us. And then he arrived for his first year looking happy and healthy. We’ve tried to get him to tell us where he has been, but he hasn’t said a word.” The headmaster leaned back in his armchair and have them an appraising look. “I think he may be purposefully hiding something from us,” he confessed.

James felt sick. He didn’t have to look at Lily to know she felt the same. He buried his face in his hands. How had everything managed to get so fucked up so quickly? For him, only earlier that day Lily had fixed them lunch. Harry had smeared cottage cheese all over his face in delight. And now he was fifteen years old, having lived Merlin knows where with Merlin knows who for the past fourteen years.

“This can’t be happening,” he whispered into his hands.

“Whoever has been caring for Harry, they have raised him to be a great young man. He is kind and compassionate and driven. You would be so proud of him. I know I have been.”

That brought James some relief. Maybe these people treated him well. Maybe they treated him better than Petunia would have. Life with the Dursleys would have been hellish and James knew it. They had never hidden their disgust of all things magic.

“You thought he was hiding something?” James asked.

“He certainly puzzles me,” Dumbledore admitted, stroking his beard in thought. “There are times he seems to know more than he lets on. I sense great power in him, but his grades show him to be only an average student for his age. He may be repressing his abilities. Whether that is intentional or accidental, I do not know.”

They were saved from a long, contemplative silence when the fireplace flared green. Minerva’s head poked out of the flames.

“We are ready for you now.” She informed them before ducking back into the fireplace.

Dumbledore handed them a piece of parchment with the address to Grimmauld Place so they could cross the Fidelius wards.

“You two go on ahead,” Dumbledore said. “I have a few things to pick up first, then I’ll join you.” And with that, the headmaster stood and left the two still seated in their armchairs. James and Lily looked at each other for a moment, still unable to process it all.

“Are you ready?” He asked her.

“No,” she replied dryly. “Are you?”

“No,” he parroted.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. I honestly wasn't sure I was going to post this. I'm honestly just writing this as a distraction from a difficult summer. Please be kind. I know it's not great but I hope you all enjoy anyway. Unfortunately, I don't have a beta so please excuse any mistakes or typos.

They sat still for a moment longer. Then, in unison, they stood, grabbed a fistful of floo powder and stepped into the fireplace. They dropped the powder at their feet and said Sirius’s home address. Green flames swallowed them up greedily. James’s head spun dizzily for a moment before quickly righting itself as they reappeared at their destination. James had always preferred floo travel to apparition, even if it was a little messy.

James and Lily silently stepped out of the fireplace, as if nervous they would disturb the fragile peace. They were in one of the many main living rooms. It was empty, so James assumed Remus and Sirius were waiting for them at the kitchen table where he and Sirius would take tea on the rare occasion that James would visit when they were young. Usually they avoided Grimmauld Place, instead spending most of their time at the Potter Manor with James’s parents before they passed.

The Black House hadn’t changed a bit since the last time James had been there. Just as cold and uninviting as ever.

James glanced at his wife. She must have seen the apprehension in his gaze because she took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze of encouragement, nodding for him to lead the way.

They walked through the doorway into the kitchen. Sirius and Remus, who had been sitting at the table, immediately jumped to their feet. Minerva was further in the kitchen preparing another pot of tea for them all. For a moment, no one moved. It seemed that even time itself stood still. His two oldest friends had tears in their eyes, their expression a cross between grief and hope.

“Prongs?” Came Sirius’s broken whisper. He took an unsure step forward. Then, like a spell had been broken, the four friends finally reunited, clutching each other tight. “You’re here, you’re really here, you came back.” Sirius mumbled into James’s shoulder.

“That’s right, Padfoot, I’m right here. I came back.” James’s voice was marred by tears. He gripped the backs of friends’ shirts tight, afraid to let go.

“I’m so sorry, Prongs, it’s all my fault,” Sirius cried. “If I hadn’t sugges-”

“Sirius Orion Black,” Lily cut him off, her voice demanding attention. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this! It was never your fault and we will never blame you!”

“Never,” James agreed solemnly. “Peter was a traitor; you only made a mistake. We’ll always love you, no matter what, brother.” James called Sirius “brother” rarely, but when he did everyone knew he meant it with all his heart. Sirius couldn’t speak past the large lump in his throat, so he simply nodded, crying harder.

“It’s not your fault either, Remus,” Lily promised, kissing the werewolf’s forehead. “We love you both so much.”

“We’ve miss you so much.” Remus had always been soft-spoken, but James wasn’t used to hearing him so fragile. He hadn’t heard that tone since Remus had admitted he was a “monster” in their first year.

“We missed you, too,” James replied. “We missed you, too.”

A quiet cough finally drew their attention. McGonagall had finished their tea and set the kettle on a towel in the center of the table. She had already laid out five teacups, a sugar bowl, and a jar of honey.

_How very British of us,_ James thought sardonically. _World’s falling apart? Make a cup of tea._

“Hurry and sit, before it runs cold,” her voice was stern but a rare, gentle smile tugged at her lips.

They all laughed through their tears, disentangled themselves, and went to sit at the table. For what seemed like an eternity they all sat in silence, staring at each other, still not quite believing it to be true.

James took in the two men in front of him. Time had not been kind to his dear friends. Sirius looked thin and pale. His once-sleek, black hair was peppered with silver and hung limply around his face. Sirius had always taken such pride in his hair, now it seemed he barely cared for it. His eyes were sunken and held a haunted quality that had not been present in his younger years. Azkaban may not have taken his mind, but James knew that poor Sirius had not left unscathed.

Remus looked like he had aged three decades instead of the fourteen years that had passed. His brown hair held even more grey than Sirius’s. His eyes were glassy, and he carried himself gingerly, as if in pain.

_He probably is in pain_ , James realized. Fourteen years’ worth of transformations, alone _. I’ve failed him. I’ve failed them both_ , James felt tears prick his eyes, but he held them back. _They’ve suffered so much; I should have been there for them._

“How?” The single word broke the peace. They all looked to Remus. “How are you still…alive? You look like you haven’t aged…” He’d never known Remus to hesitate with his words.

James and Lily looked at each other, trying to think of a way to explain the unexplainable.

“We don’t know,” Lily said finally. “It was late. Voldemort came. And then next thing we know, we’re waking up fourteen years in the future.”

“No time has passed for you?” Sirius asked.

“No,” said James.

They sunk into silence once again, sipping their drinks, thinking their thoughts.

“You’ve met Harry?” James asked, hopeful to hear anything he could about his now teenage son. Sirius smiled.

“He’s brilliant, James, He’s brilliant.”

“As bright as you, Lily,” Remus added.

“He got Seeker in his first year, he told me!”

“He’s a Seeker?” James wanted to jump up and cheer. His son liked Quidditch. Seeker in his first year! Youngest in a century! He looked toward Lily and saw pride battle with exasperation. His grin grew wider. “I told you he’d love Quidditch.” Lily swatted his shoulder.

“Shut up,” she groaned, but couldn’t quite help the smile that stole her lips.

“He learnt the Patronus charm in his third year.” Remus said quietly, but his face beamed. “A full corporeal Patronus. Guess what it’s form is.”

“What?” James breathed.

“A stag.”

Silence once again.

A stag. Harry’s Patronus was a stag. Had Harry known that was his dad’s animagus form? James wondered.

Lily looked ready to burst with pride. James felt the same. Their son had managed a full, corporeal Patronus charm, something most adults couldn’t achieve. Their little Harry, the little baby he had held in his arms what felt like only a few hours ago. Their little Harry, who was now a fifteen-year-old boy.

They missed fourteen whole years.

“He loved to hear stories about you two,” Remus continued. “He loved to hear about our Marauder days.” James laughed.

“He has friends?” Lily asked hopefully.

“Yes, two great ones as I believe,” Remus said. “Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.”

“Oh, the Weasley family!” James exclaimed. “Pureblood, right? Good people, I knew Arthur Weasley. He worked at the ministry. Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“They all get along great. Thick as thieves, those three,” Sirius said.

“What’s his favorite subject?” James asked, surprising himself. He had never really cared about school, but he found himself craving every nugget of knowledge he could get his hands on.

“Defense of the Dark Arts, of course.”

“Dumbledore told us he inherited James’s penchant for trouble?”

Trills of laughter sounded from Minerva, Sirius, and Remus.

“Oh, that he certainly has,” Minerva finally spoke up, her lips pursed. “But, not for pranks. He only ever gets into trouble trying to do good.” Tears stung his eyes. He took Lily’s hand.

“When can we see him?”

Minerva tried to hide her discomfort, but was saved from answering when they heard the fire in the chimney flare.

Dumbledore ambled from the living room fireplace to the kitchen, brushing soot from his robes. Books, parchments, and potion bottles floated lazily behind him. Minerva banished their dishes to make room for his equipment. They all stood to greet him, but he waved them back into their seats before taking his own.

“Professor Dumbledore,” James began immediately, “please, sir, when can we see him? Where is he?” Albus sighed and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Every summer Harry returns to whichever family he has grown up with. He has refused to tell us where. Tracking spells have all failed.”

“So, he’s gone?!” Lily screeched. Albus held up a hand to curb her temper.

“There is one option, one that was not available to us until now.”

“What is it?” James demanded. “If it finds Harry, we’ll do it.”

“There is still some work to do, preparations to be made, but for now we must rest.”

“Rest?” Lily jumped to her feet and began to pace. “How can we rest, Albus? We have to find our son!”

“My dear Lily, it is well past midnight,” Albus tried to calm her. “You and James have been through a terrible ordeal. Your bodies need sleep.” Seeing that Lily was getting ready to argue again, he stopped her with a stern look and waited for her to settle before continuing. “Even if we were to look tonight, Harry would most assuredly be asleep, along with the rest of Europe. For now, we rest. In the morning we will continue our search.”

James wanted to argue. Harry had been alone for fourteen years, they needed to find him! Sirius must have seen the rebellion on his face because he put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, mate,” Sirius gave him a pacifying look. “You know the headmaster is right. You’ve been through a lot the past… the past night. Take a rest. The work will begin tomorrow.” James looked over at his wife and saw Remus whispering words of assuagement. _Divide and conquer_ , James thought with a laugh. Everyone knew Remus was too smart for his own good, but it was a rare sight to see Sirius finally using the intelligence they all knew he had hidden beneath his troublemaker exterior.

James met Lily’s gaze, having an entire conversation without speaking a single word. Their shoulders slumped in resignation. Lily dropped back into her chair and put her head in her hands.

“Tomorrow,” James agreed. “Bright and early in the morning. We’re not waiting any longer.”

Albus nodded his agreement. He slid two phials of a shimmering, purple potion toward them. “To help you sleep,” he explained.

With reluctance, they took the phials.

“Come on, mate,” Sirius put a hand under James’s elbow and helped him to his feet. “I’ll set you two up in one of the guest rooms.”

Sirius led the way up the stairs and opened the second door to the right. The room rather large for a guest bedroom and it looked like it hadn’t been occupied for years, a fine layer of dust covered most everything. It was just as chilling and unpleasant as the rest of the house. The walls were painted Slytherin green. A king-sized bed with a black canopy pressed against the far wall. Off to the left was a door presumably leading to the en suite.

“Sorry,” Sirius said sheepishly, “no one’s been in here for a while. Haven’t had many visitors the past few years.” One quick scourgify later and the dust had vanished. “Not exactly home-y, I know, but it’ll have to do.” Sirius put a hand on James’s shoulder and pressed a kiss into Lily’s hair. “I’m so happy you’re back. You can’t imagine what it’s been like withou-” his voice caught in his throat and his chin trembled.

“Sirius-” James began, grasping his friend’s arm to try and comfort him, but Sirius interrupted him.

“No,” he said firmly, composing himself, “having you back is the greatest thing you could ever do for me. Now, you two rest. Take care of yourselves. There’s a bathroom over there with a tub and a shower. If you need anything just call Kreacher.”

He gave them one last, desperate hug, as if afraid they’d disappear. “Good to have you back,” he whispered again, almost to himself. Then he was gone.

They stood for a moment, still overwhelmed.

“It’s been fourteen years.” James turned to his wife, she had tears in her eyes. “He’s been without us for fourteen years.”

“I know,” James comforted and drew her into a hug.

“What if he doesn’t want us?” James found he had nothing to say to make his wife feel better because he was terrified of the same thing. “Where has he been? Who has he been with? Why hasn’t he told anyone?” Her voice wobbled and James felt on the verge of tears as well. So many tears in one night.

“It’ll be okay.” He didn’t really believe his words, but maybe if he said them enough, they would become true. “You heard the others. Moony and Padfoot and Dumbledore and McGonagall, they all said he’s doing great.”

“But what if the people who have him are abusing him?” James felt his heart clench. “Why else would he not talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” James held her tighter. “But we’re going to figure this all out,” he said with conviction. “We’re going to find him and we’re going to make everything right.”

“He’s fifteen,” Lily whispered. She still didn’t believe it. Neither did James.

“It’ll be okay,” James repeated, and despite his hopes, the words didn’t seem any truer.

They cried. Cried for their own deaths. Cried for Sirius and Remus, to whom fate had been so cruel. Cried for Harry, their son who had grown up without his parents. Cried for the fourteen years of his childhood they lost. Cried until there were no tears left to cry.

Slowly they moved toward the bed and got settled in. Uncorking the phial, James was grateful his former headmaster had given them, because he knew sleep would not come otherwise. They both downed the vile contents greedily and sank into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

 


	4. Chapter Four

The morning sun peeking behind dark curtains awoke James the next day. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out where he was. _My bed doesn’t have a canopy?_ Then the events of the previous night hit him like a herd of hippogriffs.

Half of him wanted to jump out of bed and race through the house, screaming for everyone to get up so they could find Harry. But another half, the more cowardly, terrified, very un-Gryffindor half wanted to hide away in bed. Hide away from the pain of the mess his life had become. Hide away from the terrifying possibility that his son might not want him.

He knew it most likely wasn’t true, Sirius and Remus had said how much Harry loved hearing about his parents, and he couldn’t imagine the pain of growing up an orphan. But still, he couldn’t help all the what-if’s that ran rampant in his head.

Rolling over, James saw Lily was still fast asleep which was strange because usually she was the morning person in the family. She had been so exhausted, Lily had taken everything hard. But, then again, so had he. What person alive could take being flung fourteen years in the future with a level head.

She looked peaceful, her beautiful red hair fanned out on the pillow. He didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t want to pull her from the tranquility of sleep to the nightmare of the waking world, but he knew she wouldn’t forgive him for letting her have a lie in, especially when their son was out Merlin-knows-where. Gently, he stroked her freckled cheek with the pad of his thumb, but she was deep in sleep. Moving his hand, he ran his fingers through her soft, red hair. He had always been so jealous of her straight, easily-tamed locks. She shifted and her dark eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks before she opened her eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

“Good morning,” she smiled before throwing back the covers and jumping out of bed. “Come on, we have work to do.” Normally, James would complain and stay in bed for just a few more minutes, but not that morning. He had a son waiting for him.

Descending the stairs and entering the kitchen, James and Lily found the rest of the house’s occupants already waiting for them. Even, to James’s surprise, Sirius had rose with the morning sun to look for his missing godson. Sirius was like James in that respect, any time before 10am was far too early.

Remus, much to James and Sirius’s chagrin, was like Lily, early to bed and early to rise. It used to drive them all up the wall during their Hogwarts years, especially since they shared a dorm.

His years at Hogwarts were some of the best in his life. He could see their old dorm so clearly in his mind’s eye. James’s bed had constantly been a mess and Sirius’s had been no better. The sheets were never made up in the morning, only hastily rearranged before bedtime so they didn’t accidentally throw off their covers in their sleep. Dirty clothes had been rumpled and tossed to the side; their ties had hung from the canopy bars. It had been one of Remus’s greatest pet peeves and he nagged them constantly for it, not that it ever made much of a change. His bed, on the other hand, had been the epitome of cleanliness. Peter’s bed—

James stopped, his mind grinding to a halt. _Peter,_ he had to bite back a snarl. If James ever saw him again—

“Good morning, all,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, drawing James from his cerebrations. “I know you are all anxious to start searching, but I’ve found these things are best done on a full stomach. Shall we have breakfast together?” James held back a groan. He didn’t want breakfast, he wanted his son.

“I told Kreacher to have it ready for us.” Sirius snapped his fingers. “Kreacher!” The house elf appeared with a crack.

“Master?” Kreacher sneered in disgust.

“Breakfast.” Sirius’s voice was cold. “And it had better not be poisoned!”

“Of course, Master. Kreacher lives to serve the most ancient and noble House of Black. Kreacher will fetch food for his Mistress’s disappointment of a son and his blood traitor company. Mistress would be so sad to see such filth treading through her great ancestral home.”

“Kreacher!” Sirius stood and lunged for the house elf, but Kreacher had already disappeared. A moment later the kitchen table filled with all sorts of breakfast foods.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Dumbledore inclined his head in gratitude. The house elf vanished without another word.

“Don’t thank him,” Sirius grumbled. “He only makes life miserable.”

They all took their seats and before anyone had the chance to take their first bite Lily spoke. “How are we going to find Harry? You said you had a plan, Dumbledore?” The old man chuckled.

“Yes, of course, my dear,” Dumbledore placated before launching into his plan. “Now tell me, have any of you heard of the Perditos Invenire Spell?” James saw everyone at the table shake their heads. “It is an ancient spell commonly used to find lost children. I have already made all the necessary preparations, all I need from you two is a few simple drops of blood.

“The spell will not only allow us to divine his location, it will also give an image of him, allow us to see what is happening to him.”

“It’s that simple?” James asked waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Essentially, yes. Although, there are a few draw backs. For one, the blood of both parents is required, but that will not be an issue for us. Secondly, if the child is in a warded area, we will not be able to see his location, but we will still be able to conjure an image of him. There is also a counter spell that would disable us from seeing both him and his location.”

“Great!” James clapped his hands together, moving to get to his feet. “Let’s get cracking then, yes?”

“You stay in your seat, James Potter!” McGonagall’s sharp voice cut across the table. “Eat!”

“Come on, James,” Remus cajoled. “The eggs are delicious.”

“As much of a shite as he is, Kreacher can definitely cook,” Sirius conceded.

Unhappily, James and Lily tucked back into their breakfast. James knew they were right, and he needed to eat, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. What if Harry was in trouble? And all the while James had been sitting there wasting time eating breakfast.

An empty stomach will be a distraction, James tried to convince himself. Distractions won’t help Harry.

Remus was right. The eggs were delicious.

All the food was cooked to perfection, but still James couldn’t enjoy it. His thoughts ruined each bite. He itched to finally get to work, feeling useless. Looking around the table, he saw Sirius was in the same state he was. He almost thought his old friend would transform and start barking at them all to get moving. Lily sat sulking in her chair. Even Minerva looked like she would rather breakfast be over. The only calm ones were Remus and Dumbledore, which didn’t shock James at all. Remus had always been the calm, thoughtful one of the bunch. His level-headedness and his ability to think things through with a rational mind saved the marauders from many a mishap.

As soon as the last drop of tea had been sipped and the final morsel had been consumed, James and Sirius immediately jumped to their feet. Lily and Remus followed, with a bit more dignity, right after them.

“All right, let’s get this show on the road already,” Sirius said impatiently. “I have a godson to find.”

“Yes, yes, of course. We’ll start immediately.” Dumbledore cleared away the dishes with a wave of his hand and soon books and bowls and bottles of potions floated in and came to a rest on the table. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you waiting any longer. Now, give me some space to work. It will only take a moment.”

A moment too long, James thought. He had never been a patient man; he always wanted everything to be done now. Patience was Remus’s area of expertise. _Why couldn’t these things just happen instantaneously?_ He saw Lily subtly shift her feet and he knew she was just as eager as he was.

_What would Harry be like?_ James wondered. Would he be more like his father or more like his mother? From the descriptions of the others, it seemed it was split evenly down the middle. _Good,_ James thought smugly, _can’t let Lily take all the credit._

_They said he looks like me. No doubt inheriting the horrid Potter hair,_ James thought with a silent laugh. _Lily’s eyes they said. Good,_ he smiled, _Lily has the most beautiful eyes._

Dumbledore moved toward the table and got to work. He leafed his way through the half-dozen ancient tomes, leaving them open on the proper page. He arranged five copper bowls so they together made up the five points of a star. He then moved to the potions, carefully measuring and mixing them into the bowls. The potions reacted with each other, morphing in color and viscosity, boiling, or letting off plumes of foul-smelling smoke.

“Now for the unpleasant part,” said Dumbledore. “Lily, James, if you could step closer a moment.” The two parents did as they were told. Dumbledore gently took them by the wrists and with a murmured “diffindo,” he made shallow cuts in the palms of their hands. He instructed them to mix their blood on the table in the center of the circle of bowls.

Dumbledore placed his hands hovering, palms down, over the pool of blood and began to chant. His eyes closed in concentration. James could feel magic fill the room, crackling and sparking in the air. Gusts of wind blew through the kitchen even though no doors or windows were open. The candles flickered, flames threatening to go out entirely, but still they burned strong, casting an eerie light on the walls of Grimmauld Place. Lily clutched James’s arm in a vice grip. He put a reassuring hand over hers, but even he felt a little apprehensive at the sight.

Smoke began to rise from the five bowls, each with a different color, on the table. James’s nose was immediately assaulted by the acrid scent of brimstone. Pillars of purple, yellow, blue, green, and red smog writhed and twisted around each other. The pool of blood at the center began to bubble and boil, giving of an odor similar to burning flesh. James nearly gagged. The smoke gathered in a large cloud just above the burnt mess of blood, changing from a blend of color to a simple white. And in the center of that cloud James could see the faint glimpse of an image. A shock of black and a glint of green.

———🖤🖤🖤———

Harry stood at the maw of a great tunnel. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, like teeth ready to tear into his tender flesh. He had been here before, of course, but that didn’t make it any less intimidating. With a steadying breath, he ventured forward, deeper into the cave. It was wet and smelled unpleasantly of mold and stagnant water. The farther he went, the darker it grew.

“Lumos,” he whispered. A small ball of white light appeared in the palm of his hand. Gently, he pushed the light upward, watching as it floated toward the ceiling, illuminating the cave in soft glow.

He was glad he had learned wandless magic. It hadn’t been very difficult, not for someone of his capabilities, that is. It certainly made his life easier and much more comfortable. He could never risk using his wand on his journeys thanks to that damned Trace.

The light hovered lackadaisically overhead as he made his way forward. The cool, damp air of the cave seemed to leech the warmth from his very skin like a dry sponge dipped into a glass of water. He shivered. The path soon began to narrow, the ceiling bowing so low to the ground that Harry had to hunch over to avoid losing his scalp on the jagged stone above. He felt his heart tighten. He had never enjoyed enclosed spaces, not enough room for maneuverability. However, his discomfort was short-lived, for as quickly as the cave had narrowed, it soon expanded outward again. Harry straightened his back as he entered a large cavern, feeling it pop satisfyingly.

The cavern was as tall as it was wide. The space looked as though it had been carved by man, its walls sloping and curving, unnaturally so, to form an almost perfect half-ellipsoid. Any stalagmites had to cling near the edges, for in the center of the cavern stretched a large lake. The waters were still and black, as though one were staring into the void of space itself. At the very center of the lake rose a stone pedestal from the depths.

Harry sighed softly; he always did hate this part. He lifted a hand to his belt and unhooked the severed head that hung there, simply holding it at his waist by the ropes. With a grimace, he waded into the cold waters. The water grew deeper and deeper and soon Harry was forced to lift the head up to keep it dry. Halfway across he was up to his waist. A few paces more, up to his chest. He gasped as the frigid temperature stole his breath away. Then, when he couldn’t take the cold anymore, his toe finally hit the first step of a set of stairs.

He climbed up out of the water, came to stop at a platform upon which the pedestal rested, and gently placed the head back on the hook in his belt. In the center was a small, circular depression. Reaching into the pouch at his side, Harry pulled out a small, circular keystone. Embellished by only a few elegant swirls of gold, the stone was as black as night, yet it had a very soft glow about it, like that of a star. He gently placed the keystone into the depression; it slid in perfectly. Soon, the stone glowed brighter and the pond around him began to boil.

At the far end of the cavern, a fissure only just large enough to fit a person appeared in the stone wall with an eardrum-rupturing crack. Harry winced, rubbing his ear. The keystone quickly dulled of its light and the water began to calm, returning to its deathly still rest.

“By the gods, laddie!” A Scottish voice exclaimed. “What on Earth was that?”

“Our way in,” Harry said with a slight smile.

He picked up the keystone, replacing it in his pouch, and bent down to check the water. Once it had cooled enough to touch, he stepped back into the water. The pond had lost its heat with unnatural quickness and by the time he was chest deep the water was ice cold once more. Though, he knew he wouldn’t have to worry about the cold for much longer.

Harry stepped out of the pond, wringing as much water out of his clothes as he could, then nearly smacking himself before drying his clothes with a wave of his hand and a whispered word. He approached the fissure and gingerly eased himself through. The walls squeezed him. It was a tight fit, so tight that he felt his breath quicken with panic, fearing he would become stuck between the rocks, but with one last heave he stumbled through to the other side.

Immediately, he was hit with a wave of heat as if he had opened the door to an oven set at its highest temperature. He stood in yet another tunnel, this one much shorter. A mere two hundred yards away the tunnel opened into yet another cavern, but Harry knew this one was much larger than the last. At the end of the tunnel he could see a faint glow of green.

“This is it, then?” The voice asked wearily.

“Welcome, Mimir,” Harry said, heaving a sigh, “to the Underworld.”

 


	5. Chapter Five

“Ye danna s’pose there’s any chance we could turn back and go the way we came, is there?” The severed head tied to his waist spoke.

“We’ll only be here for a moment, Mimir,” Harry assured, “finish what we came to do, then we’re leaving.”

“Oh, so ye say,” the head said unbelievingly. “Tha’s always the plan. Quick in an’ out an’ the next thing ye know ye’re trapped in the Underworld for all of eternity!”

“It’ll be fine.” Mimir only huffed in response, swinging slightly on his hook.

Harry made his way through the short tunnel, the soft, green glow getting brighter. At the tunnel ended, the sight that greeted him was a sight to behold indeed. The realm of Hades.

Before him was a river. It was a strange river, for instead of water it held a viscous liquid. Green, glowing sludge flowed lazily on its course. The Acheron, the river of pain. He didn’t speak the name aloud, not wanting to give his companion any more reason to complain. Although, some complaints would be warranted at this point.

In the river sat an intricately carved wooden boat, and in that wooden boat sat a man. He was a rather unsightly man. He was dressed in a long, dark robe hiding a grotesque, rail-thin figure. A pungent scent assaulted Harry’s nose as he gently eased himself into the boat. The man’s eyes were dark, but the pupils burned like the fires of Tartarus itself. His teeth were sharp like those of an animal, making the sneer he gave Harry all the more terrifying. The nails were the talons of an eagle. His grey beard was gnarled and matted; Harry thought he saw cockroaches writhing in its mass.

He held out his taloned hand. In the center of his palm Harry placed a single golden Drachma. The man’s gruesome grin grew. He took the oar from the floor of the boat and began to row them down the sludge-filled river. Harry took care to seat himself firmly in the center of the boat away from the glowing green waters. He didn’t care to take a dip.

Soon the boat came to a stop at a small pier. Harry lifted himself out of the boat, feeling his heart jump as it rocked, and stepped onto the solid land. Walking away, he heard the man’s haunting laughter fading in the distance as he rowed himself back down the Acheron.

Before him stood a giant iron gate. Engraved in the metal were images of death, destruction, and war, so graphic that even Harry could barely stomach it. _I suppose that’s the point,_ he thought. He approached the gate, appraising it. It looked weighty and being made of iron it would most certainly be heavier that it looked. He placed the palms of his hands against the cold metal and heaved. It _was_ heavy, too heavy for any mortal man to push. The door moaned in protest before giving way beneath his strength.

With the gates of hell no longer containing its misery, the wails of the damned hit Harry like a wall of bricks. It was a horrible sound, as if suffering itself had been personified. Before his was a path filled with a writhing mass of spirits making their way to the Underworld. Outstretched hands tried to clutch at his shirt as he passed through the iron gates, but they phased through him, dissipating like smoke as the tips of their fingers touched him.

“I still think this is a bad idea, brother,” Mimir’s voice was barely audible over the cacophony of agony.

“Is that what you think, Mimir? Strange, I would have had no idea,” Harry said sarcastically. “It’s fine,” he said, less caustic this time, “he and I are on relatively good terms.”

“Relatively?”

“If he’s going to kill me, he won’t do it right away.”

“Ah, lovely, tha’s reassuring!”

Harry pressed forward.

He was surrounded by hundreds of restless spirits waiting to gain entry to their proper place in the Underworld, screaming their grief over the life they lost. They swarmed around him, trying fruitlessly to cling to him, begging for help, for mercy. The vision of them was haunting. Harry tried not to look. They were semi-transparent, like a sheer sheet of cloth and they still had the wounds they suffered in life.

Harry strode forward with purpose, trying to ignore the pleads drifting through his ears. The spirits tried to stand in front of him, block his path and force him to listen, but they crumbled away like dust as he walked through them. It tore at his heart.

“I don’t enjoy this any more than you do, Mimir,” Harry said quietly.

“Aye,” Mimir said, a bit more subdued. “I danna suspect ye do.”

He walked through the hoards, dust in his wake, toward a large, dark castle in the distance. In retrospect, Harry supposed it didn’t take too long to reach the black gates that stood before the structure, but it certainly felt like an eternity.

Before the gate stood yet another pedestal, identical to the one in the cavern. Like before, Harry reached into his pouch and drew out the keystone. It had been a gift to him from Hades, a way to visit the Underworld with breath still in his lungs. _Well,_ Harry thought, _more of a gift from Auntie, really._ He placed the keystone in the center of the pedestal. It glowed softly. He heard a metallic groan as the gates swung open, allowing him entry. He walked through and they closed behind him, shutting the restless spirits out.

As the door shut, closing off his only exit, Harry heard a chorus of growling. Six red, glowing eyes peered out at him from the darkness. Harry smiled.

“Enough!” He called, and immediately the snarls ceased. From the shadows emerged a beast. It resembled a dog but was the size of a Grizzly Bear. More disturbing though, was its head. Well, heads. It had three of them.

“Hello, Cerberus!” Harry said brightly. “Hello, good boy.” The three-headed beast wagged his tail excitedly. Harry reached up with both hands to pet his heads. The two being stroked panted happily while the one not receiving attention growled with jealousy. Harry switched so no head would be left out.

“Are ye mad?” Mimir yelled from his place at Harry’s waist.

“He’s not so bad,” Harry defended. Cerberus, in his joy to see a new face, had pinned Harry against the wall, trying to get as close to him as possible. “He just gets a little excited,” his voice was strained against the weight of the giant three-headed dog.

“How on Earth did ye get into the good graces o’ the guardian dog o’ Hades?”

“Gave him a few pats on the snout and he’s loved me ever since,” Harry said with a laugh. “Uncle Hades apparently doesn’t have time to take care of his pets.” He gave each of Cerberus’ heads one last pat. “Sorry, Cerberus, I have to go.” The beast whined pitifully. “Hades won’t be happy if I’m late. Be a good boy.”

Harry moved on, ignoring Cerberus’s cries, and climbed up the long set of stairs leading up to the castle.

“Hades is yer uncle, aye?” Mimir inquired.

“Yes, he’s my father’s brother.” Harry answered.

“Aye.” Mimir gave a thoughtful hum. “I havna’ heard much o’ yer mortal family. Ye have a mortal mother?”

“A mortal mother and a mortal father.” There was a beat of silence.

“Two mortal parents?”

“Yes,” was the simple reply.

As Harry reached the top of the stairs he was stopped by a guard. The man was dressed in traditional Greek armor. Chunks of flesh hung off him in half-decayed lumps. Instead of eyes, he had white hot flames peering out from his empty sockets.

“I am here by order of the Lord Hades,” Harry said. The guard did not move. “Let me through,” he demanded, “or you can explain to Hades why my return has been delayed.” The guard hesitated before turning and opening the door to the palace.

———🖤🖤🖤———

James sat in his seat, uncomprehending, his head spinning in confusion. The Underworld? That wasn’t possible. Mortal family? Mortal mother and father? Hades?

James felt numb. This couldn’t be right. What was happening?

Albus had said part of the spell failed; they could only see Harry, but the tracking charm had failed. Wherever he was, the place was warded.

Could it be? The Underworld.

No, that wasn’t possible. Such things just didn’t exist. It was just myth.

He watched as Harry rubbed the dog on each of its three snouts.

It was just mythology.

“James, Lily,” Dumbledore’s voice sounded faint, as if coming from far away. “Do you have any idea what is happening here?”

James wanted to answer. He really did. But his voice froze in his throat. He didn’t understand. What was happening?

He heard Lily stutter, trying to give him an answer, before she faded into silence.

James looked over at his wife. She looked lost. Her face was pale and blank. James would imagine he looked the same. Dumbledore looked pensive; James could see his mind racing for answers. Remus and Sirius looked just about as shocked and confused as James felt, their mouths opening and snapping shut like floundering fish.

“James,” James jumped as Lily whispered into his ear. He hadn’t noticed her walk over. “Our honeymoon.”

James froze. Their honeymoon. That day had never been far from his mind. It had been as wonderful and magical as it had been mind-boggling. Could that day have something to do with this? Did they finally have an explanation? It felt like he was trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle while missing half the pieces.

The war had started to take a turn for the worst in the early days of their marriage. Initially, Lily and James had considered skipping a honeymoon altogether. It was too risky. How could they go on a honeymoon while their friends remained at home dying in a bloody war?

It had been Sirius and Remus who had convinced them.

“Go, only for a week. You just got married, James! You’ve done enough, you deserve some celebration,” Sirius had said.

And so, they went. Greece. And it had been worth it. The water had been beautiful, clear and blue.

While there, Lily and James had met a man. He had been kind and charming. He showed them the best sights in the city, showed them the best food and entertainment. He had treated them so well. On the final day, the stranger had said he had a gift for the newlywed couple. It had been a magical night. A few weeks later, Lily found out she was pregnant.

It should have been impossible. They had taken a contraception potion. They had used spells and charms. They had taken every precaution. With the war reaching its zenith, they couldn’t risk a child. Yet, nine months later Harry was born.

Who had that man been?

“James,” Sirius’s quiet voice pulled him out of his reverie. His friend pointed to the image of his son suspended in the smoke.

Harry stood before a man seated in a throne. The man was regal looking, tall and thin, his back pin straight. His hair was long and as black as night. He had a full beard and mustache, neatly trimmed. He was dressed in a black tunic that smoked and smoldered with flame, and upon his head sat a large, intricate crown.

At his side stood a beautiful woman. She wore a lilac dress that seemed to have flowers woven between the threads. She wore a small, gold circlet on her brow.

“Have you retrieved it?” The man on the throne asked.

“Yes, Uncle,” Harry reached into his pouch and pulled out a helmet. It was gruesome looking, skull-like. He handed it to one of the guards stationed in the room who returned it to its master.

“Did you discover the thief’s identity?” Harry paused. “Well?” The man raised an eyebrow.

“Ares.”

The man let out a roar of rage. He burst into flame.

“He wishes to start a war of the gods?!” He screeched.

Fire whipped around the room, swirling around them like a cyclone. James felt his heart leap as Harry winced at the heat and genuflected, his head bowed.

As soon as Hades’ rage began, it quickly subsided. The god slumped back in his throne, rubbing his temples. Harry looked like he wanted to speak.

“Silence!” Hades yelled. Harry scowled, but wisely held his tongue. Without another word, the god stormed out of the throne room.

“What he means to say is thank you, my dear,” the woman in the dress said warmly.

“Of course, Auntie,” Harry smiled. What James wouldn’t give to see that smile in person.

“You still have your keystone?”

Harry patted the pouch at his waist. The woman caught a glimpse of the severed head at his waist and raised an eyebrow. Harry quickly untied him and held him aloft so the woman could see him clearly. It allowed James a better look at the head (Mimir, Harry had called him) as well.

Mimir was an aged man. He was bald, but had a scraggly, grey beard. The head’s most shocking feature were its eyes. They were gold and shone like finely cut jewels.

“Aunt Persephone, this is Mimir. Mimir, meet my aunt, Persephone,” Harry introduced.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Mimir said. “I would shake your hand, but unfortunately I seem to have misplaced my arms.”

“Pray tell, dear nephew, why do you have a head strapped to your hip?” Persephone asked, a small smile gracing her lips.

“He’s shockingly good company.” It was an answer, but certainly no story. Persephone let out a beautiful trill of laughter, the kind that made your heart burst with joy.

“Go,” she said. “Stay here any longer and you might find yourself just as stuck as I am.”

“It was good to see you again, Auntie. Good luck dealing with Uncle Hades.”

“Don’t worry about me, I can handle my dear husband.”

James watched as Harry made his way back down the steps, taking the time to give Cerberus another pat, before walking back through the gates. As he walked amongst the dead, James could see the grimace and tension on Harry’s face. Their pain obviously bothered his son.

“Please, Albus, can’t we get him out of there?” James begged. He couldn’t bear to see Harry in that place any longer.

“I’m sorry, James,” Albus said regretfully. “It is beyond our reach.”

Harry made his way back to the green river, taking the boat back to the fissure. Through the pond and down the tunnel, James’s heart didn’t stop pounding until finally Harry stepped out into the light of day. James let out a sigh of relief and he heard Lily, Sirius, Remus do the same.

Their relief was short lived as a snarl filled the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mimir was definitely borrowed from God of War but I just loved his character so much I had to add him. Plus I thought it would give Harry some good dialogue. Feel free to leave a comment! I would love to know what you all think so far.


	6. Chapter Six

He stepped out into the light of day, squinting as the bright, midday sun burned his retinas. He took a deep breath of fresh air, relishing in its cleanness. It was one thing he truly hated about the Underworld. The air was stale and seemed to be imbued with the stench and taste of suffering and misery.

He stood in a small clearing, edged by a thick forest. The wood was Shrouded, hidden from the mortal eye. No mortal could step foot upon its soil, not alive anyways.

The Shroud was a powerful, divine illusion. It had many uses. Like the Shroud placed upon the very forest he stood in, it could be used to hide an object or a place from view of mortals. Harry often used it to conceal the arsenal of weapons he kept on his person. It could also be used to alter a person’s look, to a certain degree. It could not change a person’s face, but it could change their stature, hair color, eye color, or perhaps hide distinguishing features, such as birthmarks, or in Harry’s case a scar. While at Hogwarts, Harry Shrouded himself to conceal the muscles he had built over years of rigorous training and quests, making himself look thin and scrawny. He could not risk drawing any more attention to himself than his lightning bolt scar already did.

Harry walked toward the center of the clearing and laid down flat on his back. He groaned as he felt the bones in his back shift into place.

“All right there, brother?” Mimir asked.

“Yes, just tired.”

“I ken it,” Mimir let out a huff of laughter. “I’m exhausted just danglin’ here watchin’ it all!”

Harry reached into his pouch and pulled out a wineskin of Nectar. It was sweet and sent a jolt of energy to his aching limbs.

“Harry.”

“Hm?”

“Ye mentioned ye come from a family of magicians?”

“Wizards,” Harry corrected.

“Aye. Tell me ‘bout all that. I dinna ken much o’ tha’ society. Of course, I ken of the Greek sorceresses. But this is something different, aye?”

“Yeah, it’s certainly interesting, to say the least.”

“Ye dinna sound as if ye much care for it.”

Harry hesitated, trying to think of a way to answer. “Well, it’s not—” He paused. “I mean, I don’t really hate—” Harry sighed. “I have mixed feelings on the Wizarding World.”

“Oh?”

“The magic is incredible. It was the main reason I came to the Wizarding World in the first place. I wanted to study this magic. It’s different. It’s interesting.”

“What is it ye dislike?”

“The society itself, I suppose.” Harry paused, gathering his thoughts. “It’s flawed, and in many cases it’s cruel. They believe in something called blood purity,” he spat out the words. “Some wizards are born from nonmagical families and many in the Wizarding World look down upon them for it. A dear friend of mine is a Muggleborn. My mother was one.

“They also discriminate against those who are not completely human. Werewolves. Vampires. Half-giants.” Harry sat up. “A friend of mine is a werewolf. Remus. He is a kind man, intelligent. Yet still the Wizarding World treats him horribly for it. He struggles to find employment. He was forced to resign from his most recent position because his condition was betrayed.”

“Ah, this is the Remus Lupin that ye mentioned earlier?”

“One and the same.”

“Ye said ye were considering inviting ‘im to live with you in Olympia. He and that other man.” Harry sighed again.

“Yes,” he wavered. “I’m hoping to give Remus a better life.”

“But?” Mimir prompted when Harry said nothing further.

“But,” Harry continued, “I’m worried he will be unhappy there.” Harry _was_ worried. He had been pondering whether or not to tell Remus for some time. With all his heart, he wanted to, but what if Remus saw him as a monster? He knew deep down in his heart that Remus would never, but still he worried.

“From what ye’ve said, yer home sounds like a paradise. And if he’s as mistreated as ye say, I’m sure he would be most grateful.”

“But what if—” Suddenly, Harry tensed, his hand moving to rest on the hilt of one of the two sheathed swords he kept at his side.

“Brother?”

“Shh!”

Slowly, Harry rose to his feet and unsheathed both his swords with the silent hiss of metal on leather. A growl emanated from the trees in front of him. It sounded large.

Harry shifted his weight, widening his stance to prepare for an attack.

From the forest undergrowth burst forth a mighty beast. It snarled ferociously, circling its prey. It looked strikingly like a lion, with a large face framed with a fluffy mane, but instead of fur, its body was covered with scaled skin of gold. It’s tail, however, was not that of a lion, but instead was that of a scorpion. The golden stinger dripping with vile, black poison. He knew being stung with that would be a vastly unpleasant experience.

Harry couldn’t help the trill of fear that jolted through his heart. The venom of a manticore was deadly, even to his own kind. But, then again, Harry seemed to have a propensity for defying the norm.

For a moment, he simply stared down the creature, gazing into its pitch-black eyes. The beast stared back, challenging him.

And then it began.

The monster charged with a roar, teeth flashing like daggers. Harry threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the golden lion’s claws. With a deft roll, using his momentum to carry him forward, he was on his feet once more, spiraling to face the manticore.

The manticore spun around, its claws digging scores into the soft soil of the earth. It snarled. It tried to leap at him again, but Harry held it at bay with a few vicious swipes of his blade. He jabbed at the beast, but it leapt aside with the true grace of a cat.

And so, they danced. A magnificent ballet of blade and blood. Harry had managed to nick the beast a few times, but none were anywhere close to a felling wound. If anything, they only made the manticore angrier.

One well-aimed swipe at his undefended forearm left Harry with four deep gouges just above the wrist. Harry hissed with pain and backpedaled, lifting his arm to give the wound a quick inspection. With preternatural speed, the bloody flesh stitched itself back together, sowing and mending the torn meat together again. Within moments, all that remained was a thin, pink scar.

Finally, like a beacon, he saw his opening. The lion had swung too wide in a wild swipe toward Harry’s midsection, leaving its chest unguarded. Quick as the lightning that flowed in his veins, Harry plunged his sword, through bone, into the beast’s heart.

He was too slow.

The lion’s cat-like reflexes holding true, it swung its paws back. Claws scrapped the bone of his upper back, pulling him close in a macabre semblance of an embrace. The beast’s teeth sunk into the tender flesh of Harry’s shoulder, chewing and gnawing, ripping away a maw-full of muscle.

With its dying gasps, the sword buried deep in its chest, the beast raised its tail, swung it over Harry’s mangled shoulder and stabbed him thrice in the back.

His blood flowed as magma in its vessels. It was agony. He screamed, screamed until he thought his lungs would bleed. With what little strength was left in him, he choked off his shriek and shoved the dying lion off his blade. It twitched and jerked before Death finally claimed it.

Harry fell to the ground, his knees no longer having the strength to bear the weight of his body. He laid there for a moment, willing his body to remember how to breath.

“Brother,” Mimir’s whisper was urgent. “Can ye move?”

“Just barely,” Harry moaned in pain.

“Breathe, laddie,” he coached. “Ye have to get back to the cave. It’ll at least give ye some shelter.”

He was right, Harry knew it. His injuries were grievous, and despite his advanced healing abilities, he knew his body would succumb to the manticore’s venom sooner rather than later. He needed to find a safe place for his body while it healed, and the entrance to the Underworld was his best option. Even some of the fiercest creatures housed by the forest would not dare enter the caves.

Trying to ignore the pain lancing through his body, Harry got to his feet and limped gingerly back to the cave.

_Gods, it hurts._

He took out his wineskin of Nectar again. There wasn’t much left. He drank the last drop, hoping it would give him enough energy to get to safety.

“Can ye make it back to the main cavern?” Mimir asked. “It has a good source of water.” Harry sighed.

“I think so.”

The trek took twice as long as it had the first time. But Mimir was right, with the last of his Nectar gone he needed water. He could feel the blood soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the stone ground. He shivered as his warm life’s blood drained from his body. Halfway there he felt his strength beginning to wane, he knew he didn’t have much time left. Mimir murmured encouragement, urging him to keep moving.

———🖤🖤🖤———

Lily was sobbing, begging. James wanted to do the same, but it seemed his body had forgotten how.

“Please, Albus,” she begged, “please we have to find him!”

“I’m so sorry, my dear.” Even Dumbledore looked pale. “Wherever he is, its warded. None of our spells will work.”

“Try again!” Lily screamed, anger overriding her grief.

The bloody battle played over and over again in James’s mind. It was like one of those cassette tapes from the Muggle World Lily had told him about. Repeating and repeating. He remembered the grace of Harry’s movements, the beauty in them.

He remembered the lion’s golden stinger coming down upon his son, again and again. James felt as if he were the one being stabbed.

Despite his sheer terror, James had been so proud of his son. Harry was brave and strong. He knew how to fight, but at the same time it only worried him further. Where had he learned to fight like that? And with a _sword_ no less!

He felt as if he were in a fog. Everything seemed distant, numbed. In a way, he was grateful for it. He didn’t think he could handle any emotions right now.

“Please! There must be something.” Lily’s voice sounded a thousand yards away.

_I should comfort her_ , James thought, _I want to help her._ He could barely help himself.

Vaguely, he registered a warm hand on his shoulder. Sirius was standing by him, anchoring him, ignoring his own grief to help his friend. In a moment of clarity, James looked down at himself. His hands were trembling fiercely, they were pale and ice cold.

“It’ll be alright, mate,” Sirius whispered reassuringly. “We’ll get him back.”

“Look at him!” Lily yelled angrily through her tears. “He’s dying!”

James’s legs gave out at the words. Sirius caught him and lowered him to the wooden floor.

_Please, Merlin, no. We just got him back._

“There’s nothing we can do, I’m sorry,” Dumbledore said again.

He was going to outlive his own child. A horrible fate for any parent.

“Lily,” James called, his voice barely above a whisper. Her yelling stopped, replaced by sobs. She staggered over to him and collapsed to her knees. The two parents clung to each other. James looked toward the smoky image to watch his son’s final moments. He felt everyone do the same. The room fell deathly quiet.

Harry finally reached the open cavern at the end of the tunnels, he was covered in sweat, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. He collapsed at the pond’s edge, plunging his face into the icy water and gulping down large mouthfuls.

“How’re ye feeling?” Mimir asked quietly. The somberness of the head’s voice sent a blade of ice through James’s heart. It sounded like they had already given up.

“Ill,” Harry laughed weakly. He untied Mimir from his belt and balanced him upright on the floor so they could speak face-to-face. “It won’t be long.” He stated a bit more seriously.

James and Lily couldn’t quite bite back a small sob. He heard Sirius give a moan. Both he and Remus had tears streaming down their faces. They huddled next to their friends, both to seek and offer comfort.

“Why are ye no’ healing properly?”

“The venom. It’s a bit stronger than my body can handle right now.”

“Ye will come back, aye?”

“Yes, I’ll come back.”

Healing? Come back?

James pulled away slightly so he could look at Lily. He could see the small spark of hope in her eye that he was sure was present in his own gaze.

He knew it was a false hope. He didn’t want to look, but he knew his son’s injuries were terrible. As an Auror who had lived through a war, he had seen his fair share of wounds. There’s no way Harry would survive. His words were only the ramblings of a dying man.

But the impossible had happened over and over again. Maybe it could happen one more time. James and Lily themselves had been resurrected from the dead. Maybe Harry could, too? He had survived a killing curse sent by none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Maybe he could make it through this, too?

Lily and James clutched each other’s hands, hope filling their hearts.

“Professor Dumbledore,” James heard Remus speak, his voice low. “Do you think it possible?”

“I’m not sure,” Dumbledore answered after a moment of silence. “All we can do is wait and see.”

“Tell me about this Remus Lupin,” said Mimir. So many strange things had happened recently that James wasn’t even phased by the fact that his son was conversing with a severed head. “Ye mentioned another a while ago as well. Something serious?”

“Sirius Black.” Harry’s laugh dissolved into a painful cough. His eyes glazed with pain. James felt the pain as if it were his own.

“Brother?”

“I’m all right,” Harry waved away his concern. His voice was faint. “I’ll be all right.”

“Tell me about Sirius and Remus.”

James was stuck between wanting to cry and wanting to kiss the severed head on the cheek. He was grateful for Mimir’s help. He was glad his son wouldn’t suffer in a dank cave alone.

He looked at his two friends whose names were spoken with Harry’s dying breaths. Their eyes were wide with shock, glassed over with tears. They were leaned forward, hanging onto Harry’s words.

“They were friends of my parents,” he began. “Sirius is my godfather. I’m sure if my parents had lived, I would have called them Uncle.”

“What happened to them?”

“Well, Remus is a werewolf. A half-breed,” he hissed the words. “The wizards treat him horribly, like something not human.

“Technically, I’m a half-breed. I wonder if the Wizarding World would treat me the same.” Harry’s voice was distant and soft, as if he was speaking to himself.

“What about this Sirius Black?”

“My godfather,” Harry said with a smile. James felt Sirius shift eagerly. “They have done him a disservice as well. He was falsely accused. Sentenced to twelve years in prison. A horrible prison.” Harry’s breath rattled as he sighed.

“Ye can offer them a better life.”

Harry was quiet for a moment.

“I can offer them a better life, but will they be happy with it?” Harry rasped. He was paler, and he couldn’t quite keep his eyes open. “I’ll be taking them from their homes. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything to them.”

Sirius looked ready to jump up, as if he thought he could leap through the smoke image and shake sense into his godson. Even the mild-tempered Remus look ready to leap into action.

At that moment, James couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy in his heart. His two best friends knew his son better than he did. They had a chance to talk to him, to get to know him. Perhaps they didn’t know Harry as well as they thought they had, but it was more than James and Lily were afforded.

Then he saw the love and fear and sorrow ever-present in his friends’ gaze, and he knew how much they loved Harry. And for that he would be grateful.

“They deserve a choice, aye?” Mimir’s persuasive voice cut through James’s thoughts. Another silence.

“I suppose they do, don’t they?” Another raspy breath. It sounded so painful.

“Breathe, Brother,” Mimir soothed. “Just breathe. It’ll be over soon.” Another hush descended upon them, broken only by Harry’s death rattles.

His son was dying, and James felt the hope that had once lit his heart die along with him. He would never hold his boy. Never tell him how much he loved him. Never tell him how sorry he was for leaving him.

Harry closed his eyes, his breaths few and far between now. Mimir murmured words of comfort as he drifted off.

James felt like he was dying right along with his son. He wanted to die with him. No parent should ever outlive their child.

Harry took his final breath. He fell still, his body slumping further onto the hard ground.

Lily and James screamed their agony. They screamed. And screamed. They didn’t feel Sirius and Remus’s tears soak into their shoulders. They didn’t even hear the ever-stoic Minerva McGonagall let out a quiet sob. They don’t see the strong Albus Dumbledore sink into his chair, bowed in grief.

“Please,” Lily begged. “Please! My baby!” She was met with deafening silence.

James remembered waking up in the ruins of Godric’s Hallow. Holding his wife as they wept over their missing baby. It had been horrible, painful, torturous. But this was worse. He gazed upon his child’s dead body. This was worse.

“I’m so sorry,” Dumbledore’s voice was quiet. “There is nothing we can do.” James felt his sobs return with vigor.

They all huddled together, grieving over the boy who died before meeting his parents. James just wanted it to end. After so much pain, so much suffering. He couldn’t live without his boy. Without his son. His child. His Harry. He just couldn’t.

Sobs subsided, and soon the group sat numb with shock. It was over. Harry was dead. His body would rot in a cave because of some stupid, ineffective spell. Lily and James would never be able to bury their son.

_This can’t be happening_ , James begged. _We just came back. We just got him back. He can’t be dead. Please, please, give him back._

_Give him back to me,_ he begged any god that could hear.

The gods listened.

Their silent grief was shattered by a loud gasp, like a drowning sailor breaching the waves to take in a desperate lungful of air. Looking back at the image, they saw Harry pitch over onto his side and throw up a stomach full of blood. Red painted the damp stones.

Harry was alive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy! A small comment would mean the world. Let me know how I'm doing.


	7. Chapter Seven

It was agony. Though that was no surprise. It always was.

There was a certain peace in death. It was cool, like a nice breeze in the middle of summer. The darkness was comforting instead of terrifying. There were times when Harry wished he could stay. Death was so much kinder. It was a mercy.

_Life_ was agony.

Harry was ripped from death and thrust into a world of pain. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He felt his body convulse as he expelled blood from his lungs and his stomach. He coughed, and he retched, and he chocked.

He wished for oblivion again.

He sucked in precious lungfuls of the sweet oxygen his body had been deprived of in death. It burned like fire.

_What happened?_ Harry thought, bewildered, dumb with pain. Memories filled with teeth and claws and blood came rushing back.

“Just breathe,” a voice coached.

Ignoring the pain, he focused on simply drawing air into his lungs. It was an arduous task, his body rebelling against him, but soon the fire began to cool. After what felt like an eternity, the storm that ravaged his body died down, his breath evening out.

Harry was certainly blessed by the gods. Under normal circumstances, he could heal quickly from any wound, but some injuries were just too grievous and drove him to the grave anyway. In death, his body was able to take the energy that was used previously to sustain him and redirect it toward healing his wounds. However, one disadvantage was his body was not spared the process of decomposition. If he remained dead for too long, we would awaken to a half-rotted body. A vastly unpleasant experience, as Harry had learned the hard way. To avoid this, his body would heal partway, then resurrect itself to heal the rest in life.

Since his body did not feel like it had begun the decomposition process, Harry knew he had not been dead long. He knew he would still have wounds left over. Delicately, he took stock of his injuries like any good soldier would.

He could still feel the manticore’s venom in his veins. His body had burned through a majority of it, but enough remained to cause him a considerable amount of discomfort. He felt ill and weak, but thankfully it was not enough to kill him a second time. The deep gouges left by the manticore’s teeth and claws had shrunk slightly and no longer bled, but the still open wounds were raw and painful. They would heal slow (slow for him anyway), his body too busy recovering from death and dealing with the venom ravishing his system.

He groaned in pain, grinding his forehead into the stone floor. The cool air felt good on his skin and in his lungs, soothing him. He let the tension ease out of his muscles, and he lay boneless on the unyielding rocks. The pain was beginning to recede to manageable levels, though not gone entirely.

“Welcome back,” Mimir said. Harry just moaned in lieu of response. “Yer injuries havna’ healed completely,” he noted, his tone colored with a hint of worry.

“Don’t have enough energy,” Harry said simply, his voice was weak. “They’ll heal, just a little slower than normal.”

“Will ye be all right?”

“I’ll be alright. In time.” He rolled over, trying to find the strength to sit himself up. “But for now, I need to find a place to rest. I’ve gone on like this for far too long.”

“Aye, as I’ve said from the beginning,” Mimir reproached testily.

“Yes, yes,” Harry waved a dismissive hand, smiling through the pain. “You were right, and I was wrong.”

“Can ye move yet?”

“Let’s see.” Slowly, painfully, Harry got to his feet. He felt as if he were being weighed down by a thousand bricks. He couldn’t quite muffle the low groan that escaped past his lips.

“Easy, easy,” Mimir said in low, calming tones.

“Argh, it hurts!” Harry yelled in frustration. He moaned, hunched over, but still standing. He picked Mimir up by his ropes and strapped him back onto his belt, and, with a steadying breath, he straightened himself and began moving back out of the cavern and down the tunnels once more.

“Where are we going?”

“A friend’s,” Harry answered vaguely. “But first I need to get out of this forest. It’s protected, and I can’t disapparate from here.”

Another little cheat Harry had picked up in the Wizarding World. Technically illegal, but certainly useful.

Magic came easily to him. So easily he had to fake ineptitude in order to avoid suspicion. After all, what was simple mortal magic to someone like him?

He made it through the clearing at the mouth of the cave, passing the corpse of his murderer, and walked toward the forest. It was thick with vegetation, so thick he had to use his sword to cut himself a path. He let out a small grunt of pain with each swing.

Harry was silent, thoughtful, his mind racing. He thought back to the images he had seen in death. Their message was clear, but it couldn’t be, it wasn’t _impossible_. He considered dismissing them, but his visions had never proven false before. They had a tendency to be vague and unclear, but these latest ones were not so.

“Ye’re quiet,” Mimir prompted. Harry paused a moment, finding it difficult to put his thoughts into words. “Brother?”

“I saw something,” he began hesitantly, “while I was dead.” He could practically feel Mimir perk with interest.

“A vision?”

“Two. They don’t make sense,” Harry said, almost to himself.

“What did ye see?” Harry took a while to think of a response.

“A couple. Who I know to be almost a decade and a half long dead.”

“Yet they are alive?”

“Either they are now, or they will be some time in the near future.”

“You’re sure this vision was not set in the past?”

Harry’s visions often transcended time. He could gaze into the past, see the present, or peak into the future. The only problem was he could never definitively tell which.

“I thought that at first, because they still looked as old as they were when they died. But there were others with them, people I know currently, and they didn’t appear to have changed or aged,” Harry explained. “So, it’s either the present or near future.”

“Who are these people? Do ye know them?”

He was silent again.

“Harry?”

He heaved a sigh. “Lily and James Potter. My parents.”

“The mortal ones?” Mimir’s voice was incredulous and, to be frank, Harry was inclined to agree. He had seen many things in his time and on his travels, but the dead didn’t often return to life. Well, usually anyway. “By the gods, are ye sure?”

“My visions have rarely led me astray before. And this seemed unusually clear.”

They carried on in silent contemplation, trying to wrap their heads around the impossible.

_What am I going to do?_ Harry thought to himself. _Surely it can’t be possible, can it?_ He swung his sword harder, ignoring the pain, slicing at the forest in his path.

“Ye never did explain to me how that’s possible,” Mimir stated.

“How what’s possible?”

“Ye have two mortal parents and a godly parent. Not exactly a common thing.”

Harry groaned and rubbed a weary hand across his face. “I really don’t want to get into the details of my conception.”

“I’m a severed head dangling from yer waist belt! I’m not exactly in a position to judge, ye ken.”

Harry sighed, resigned, cutting his way through the forest’s undergrowth. “Do you know the story of Theseus’s birth?”

“I canna say I do.”

“His mother, Aethra, was said to have laid with both the King Aegeus and Poseidon in the same night. According to mythology, he was the son of both. So, apparently my case has a precedent.”

“How do ye ken ye’re related to the mortal man?”

“I’ve been often told I’m the spitting image of him. I suppose that isn’t much to go on, but it is an argument. Especially since Zeus looks nothing like James. The only resemblance I have to Lily are my eyes. And there’s definitely no way I’m _not_ Zeus’s son.”

“How is it possible? To have three parents?”

“Well, it’s not the first time he’s sired a child through unconventional means.” Harry’s face twisted into a grimace of disgust. He took a quick moment to rub his aching shoulders, feeling the still-open wounds burn underneath his touch. “There is the story of Danae and the birth of Perseus. Zeus impregnated her with a golden shower. And I mean a literal shower of pure, twenty-four karat gold. And then there’s Dionysus. He grew out of Zeus’s thigh.”

Harry hacked at a particularly stubborn bush.

“What ‘bout the other vision?” Mimir asked, changing the subject to spare his friend. “Ye mentioned two.” Harry let out a bark of laughter.

“I know where Voldemort’s last horcrux is!” A triumphant smile spread across his face.

“Voldemort,” Mimir repeated thoughtfully, “the one who tried to murder ye?”

“One and the same.”

“Why haven’t ye killed him yet?”

“Well, it certainly isn’t because of any great skill on his part!” Harry scowled. “Voldemort has created magical objects known as horcruxes that keep him tethered to this world,” Harry explained. “Basically, Voldemort severed his soul and put each fragment into an object. So, when his body dies, the pieces of his soul keep him anchored to this world.”

“How have ye found them?”

“Mostly through visions. A little bit of luck here and there,” he said, thinking back to how he stumbled across Tom Riddle’s diary in the Chamber of Secrets. It really had been an accident.

“What will ye do once ye’ve defeated him?”

“Well, my original plan was to stay for the rest of Hogwarts.”

“But now?”

“I’m tired,” Harry sighed. “The Wizarding World is no paradise. The longer I stay there, the angrier I get.”

“Ye hate it that much?”

“I don’t hate the people, at least not all of them,” he said, thinking about Sirius and Remus and all the friends he had made there. “I just hate the society.”

“What will ye tell yer parents?”

Harry felt fear strike his heart. He hadn’t thought of that.

“I don’t know,” he whispered meekly. “I don’t know if they know what I am. I don’t even know if my conception was consensual. Zeus isn’t exactly one to ask permission, and I don’t want to be the product of rape.”

The sound of metal cutting through bushes and undergrowth seemed to roar in his ears. He had been worried about telling Remus and Sirius. But to tell his parents he was only half human.

What if they didn’t love him for it?

What if they thought he was monster?

He didn’t think he could bare it.

———🖤🖤🖤———

It had never occurred to him. The thought had never crossed his mind.

The possibility that Harry wasn’t his.

He heard a roaring in his ears. The room seemed to fade away and he was left with only his thoughts.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream and rage and curse the world for its cruelty.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t bring himself to resent it. He loved Harry. He had never even met his son in person and yet, with all his heart, he loved him. He could still feel his little baby in his arms, so soft and small and fragile. James had been too terrified to hold him when the Healers at St. Mungo’s offered him the little bundle shortly after Lily had given birth, so scared that he would break. Harry’s birth was the memory of his Patronus charm. How could James _not_ love him?

He would love his son until the end of his days, biological or not.

He couldn’t live without him.

“James,” Remus’s voice cut through the fog of his mind like a lighthouse cutting through a dark, stormy night, guiding ships safely toward the harbor. “He’s yours,” he said emphatically. “He’s yours.”

“You don’t know that. Not for sure.”

“Actually, we do.” All in the room turned to look at the great Albus Dumbledore as he spoke. “He must be related to you both by blood. Or else the Perditos Invenire Charm would have failed. It requires blood of both parents. Harry is your son, James.”

James expected the relief to bring him to his knees. But, to be honest, nothing had changed. Harry would always be his boy.

A loud crack drew their attention. Harry had reached the forest’s edge and Disapparated. He now stood at the front door to a large mansion. He grasped the knocker and pounded it against the oak.

“Where did he learn Apparition? He’s only fifteen.” Lily’s voice sounded faint.

“It seems,” Dumbledore said, “our dear Harry has many hidden talents.”

“He was able to use wandless magic too,” Sirius reminded them, his eyes glued on the smoky image of his godson. “In the cave with the Lumos charm.”

The door squeaked loudly as it opened to reveal a tall, pale man. His long, blond hair was pulled back in a braid and draped elegantly over his right shoulder. He stood with a regal posture. The man gaped at Harry. His eyes widened, the sclera turned blood red, and the skin just below his eyes suddenly turned dark as if they had been bruised. His mouth dropped open in shock, revealing two, sharply pointed fangs.

James felt his heart skip a beat. _What in Merlin’s name is he thinking?!_ He glanced at his wife and judging by her wide-eyed gaze, the same thoughts ran through her mind as well.

“Harry,” the man whispered in shock, sweeping his gaze up and down Harry’s body as if checking for wounds.

“Sorry, Trefor.” He muttered a quick ‘scourgify’ and the blood vanished. “I need your help.”

“What happened?” The man pulled him across the threshold.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry dismissed.

“Doesn’t matter?” The man, Trefor, yelled. “You show up unannounced at my doorstep, soaked in blood, and you say, ‘it doesn’t matter’?!”

Harry held up his hands, palms forward, in a placating manner, watching as the vampire paced and back forth agitatedly. “Did you not _think_ , you bloody idiot?” Trefor vituperated. “What if I had lost control?”

“Do you really think you can kill me?” Harry gave him a toothy grin and Trefor snarled. Harry sobered. “I’m kidding, but I really do need your help.”

Trefor gave one last growl, baring his sharp canines before, slowly, his face evened to a pensive grimace. “Yes, I suppose I owe you that much,” he sighed with a resigned smile. He took Harry’s elbow gently and guided him farther into the house. They entered a parlor lit by a blazing fireplace and sat on the couches close to the warmth. “What can I do?”

“I just need a place to rest.” Harry’s voice was weary. “It’s been a long summer.”

“I unfortunately don’t have any good food here, nothing you will eat, anyway. But I can send a servant to the store to get some.”

“Thank you, Trefor. I’ll pay you back for it.”

“You will do no such thing.” Trefor stood. “I’m the one who owes you.” His voice was quiet.

“You owe me nothing,” Harry huffed. Without another word, Trefor disappeared, racing away at speeds that would break any human’s neck.

He returned but a moment later carrying a large pitcher of water and a glass.

“Oh, thank the gods for you, Trefor.” Harry laughed in relief. He poured himself a glass and gulped it down greedily. He refilled the glass and repeated.

“I’ve ordered one of the servants has gone to the store to fetch you some food.”

“Thank you, Trefor.”

“And your wounds?”

“Leave them,” Harry dismissed with a careless wave of the hand. “They will heal on their own, and there’s really nothing that be done about them.” Trefor hummed in acquiescence.

“I see you still carry around the head.” His lip curled slightly in distaste.

“Ah, yes, good t’see ye too, Trefor,” Mimir said with false frivolity. “Killed any wee barins recenty, have ye?”

“Silence, head!”

“All right, you two,” Harry interrupted, exasperated, as if their squabbles were nothing new. “That’s enough!”

James watched them as they sat by the fire, chatting and bickering like dear old friends. He wondered about the relationship between the two. They seemed to be good friends, but where on Earth had Harry met a vampire? And what did Harry do that the vampire owed him? James was never one to discriminate against half-humans, he was friends with a werewolf after all. But didn’t Harry see the danger here? Vampires usually weren’t ones to pass up a free meal. Then again, he had killed that lion beast, so it wasn’t as if Harry couldn’t handle himself in a fight.

“Albus!” Lily’s voice jolted James from his thoughts. “He’s out of the forest!” Her eyes were wide and glassy, and her expression was one of desperation.

“He’s beyond the wards,” James whispered. “We can trace him!”


	8. Chapter Eight

Everyone in the room, with the exception of Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, immediately perked at the notion that they could finally track Harry. “Albus?” Lily said expectantly.

“My dear,” Dumbledore began, his voice apologetic, “Harry is in a vampire’s lair. We do not know who this man is. He might not take too kindly to any more visitors. I believe it best for us to wait for a better opportunity.”

Lily bristled. “Now you listen here, Albus Dumbledore—!” Her furious rant was cut short.

“How did he know you two are alive?” Minerva inquired faintly. Silence descended upon the room. How _did_ Harry know?

“He also mentioned knowing something about Voldemort’s horcruxes,” Remus contemplated, holding his hand to his chin in thought.

“I am unsure,” Dumbledore said, almost to himself. “This would not be the first Harry has seen visions,” –James felt his heart stop, his son was having visions of _Voldemort?_ — “but normally they only pertain to Voldemort. This would explain how he knew about the horcruxes, but not how he knew of your return.”

“Unless Voldemort brought them back?” Remus brainstormed.

“Yes, but why?” Minerva questioned. “Surely bringing Lily and James back would put Voldemort at a disadvantage.”

“Unless he did it to distract Harry,” Remus countered.

“That is a possibility,” Dumbledore hummed in thought.

“Enough!” Lily shouted. “Harry is right there, and I don’t care what you say, Albus, we’re finding our son!” Lily bared her teeth in a vicious scowl. “He’s been waiting fourteen years for us,” her voice grew quiet, dangerous, “I will _not_ make him wait any longer.”

“Albus is right, Lily,” Minerva coaxed. “It may not be safe—”

“I don’t care!” Lily shouted. “He’s our _son!_ ”

“Neither do I,” James added, feeling Sirius and Remus nod in agreement.

“Albus,” said Remus. “We debate how Harry knows all this, but the only one with all the answers is he himself. If we find him and bring him here, we can ask him the truth.” James could have cheered if the atmosphere were not so tense. Leave it to Remus, ever the voice of reason. “Even so, Harry is injured. We can’t leave him unattended.”

Albus seemed to sense this was one battle he would not win. A wise decision, coming between a mother bear and her cub was a good way to get mauled. “Very well, Lily,” his face was stern, letting Lily know he did not appreciate her defiance, but still he acquiesced, nonetheless. “But we must do this delicately. Harry may already be aware that you and James have returned, but the news may still be a bit of a shock.”

“I’ll go,” Sirius immediately volunteered.

“No, Sirius, I’ll go,” Remus interjected. “You’re a fugitive, Sirius!” Remus said before his friend had a chance to disagree. “It’s not safe for you to leave the house with a warrant on your head! I’m the best option, who better to send to a vampire’s lair than a werewolf. I cannot contract the vampire disease, and even in my human form I’m stronger than any of you.”

James wanted to object. _He_ was Harry’s father, shouldn’t it be his job to bring his son home? But he knew Dumbledore was right. He and Lily had been dead for fourteen years. He couldn’t just show up out of nowhere and demand Harry come with him.

Sirius crossed his arms petulantly and sulked but didn’t make any further argument.

“It is settled, then,” Dumbledore clasped his hands together. “We will begin the tracking spell and then Remus will go to collect young Harry. Lily, James, I’m afraid I must ask for a few more drops of blood from you.” Lily, James, and the headmaster all moved forward towards the table. The two Potters took out their wands and murmured a soft ‘diffindo,’ feeling a sharp pain as a gash formed in the palms of their hands. They let the fresh blood dribble past their fingers and onto the already burnt pile of congealed blood in the center of the table. James tried to ignore the stab of apprehension when the smoke holding Harry’s image disappeared as Dumbledore began to chant.

The ritual carried on as it had, plumes of acrid smoke and a beautiful display of lights, but toward the end something changed. As the image of Harry fizzled back into existence, the blood bubbling on the table began to calm and cool, no longer a burnt mass, but a still pool of red. Soon the liquid began to spread out, tendrils moving across the table. And then the rivulets of blood began to form words, an address.

“Moldova?” Remus’s voice was quiet and thoughtful.

“What the fuck’s he doing in _Moldova_?!” Sirius paced agitatedly. James wanted to join him, but he didn’t think his legs could bear his weight at the moment. Instead, he dropped his head into his hands, trying to push down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. At this rate, they’d never get to Harry.

“No,” Lily nearly sobbed, looking the picture of desperation.

“What do we do now, Albus?” Remus questioned.

They certainly were in the proverbial jar of pickled frog’s feet. The plan had been for Remus to apparate to Harry and collect him, but with Harry all the way in Moldova, apparition wasn’t possible. International apparition was illegalized because of the risk of death or maiming by splinching, which James _supposed_ was a good enough reason. They would need to get permission to create an international portkey, and with the amount of red tape that wound around getting one, it would certainly be a while before they could get anywhere close to Harry.

“I can’t go because I’m a werewolf.” Wizarding law restricted the movement of werewolves across state borders. It wasn’t impossible, but it was difficult. Any werewolf wanting to leave the country had to have justifiable reason for traveling, and somehow James didn’t think ‘I need to look for my dead best friend’s son who managed to leave Britain without anybody noticing because his previously deceased parents have come back to life’ would quite cut it. “Sirius can’t go because he’s a fugitive. James and Lily can’t go because they’re supposed to be _dead!_ ” Remus slumped down in his seat in defeat. It seemed the stress was finally getting to him. “What do we do?”

“I am not sure I’ll have the ability to procure a portkey,” Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. “After the proceedings of the Third Trial, I do not have a particularly high standing with the Ministry. They refuse to believe that Lord Voldemort has indeed returned.”

“Wait, Voldemort’s back?” James reeled. He was human again? When Dumbledore had said Harry had reduced Voldemort to a wraith, James thought the nightmare was finally over, that he could finally rest. No more war. No more death.

So much for that hope.

“A few months ago,” Remus elaborated. “We’ll explain it all later.” The werewolf’s voice was so laden with exhaustion that James didn’t argue.

James knew what his friend was feeling. Harry was James’s son, but that didn’t stop him from being Remus’s cub as well.

“I could go,” Minerva spoke up. She had been shockingly quiet throughout the entire affair. “No one would question me.”

“A fine idea, my dear Minerva!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together. “I do believe it best if we get started on the process as soon as possible.”

“Shall I leave now?”

“Please, Minerva,” James nearly begged. He needed to get to Harry, he didn’t think he could bear to wait any longer.

Professor McGonagall’s ever-stern expression softened. “Of course, James, I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Minerva bid her farewells to all in the room and apparated off with a loud crack.

“So,” Lily said quietly, breaking the silence that descended upon the room, “what do we do now?”

“Now we wait,” Dumbledore said somberly. “But I do believe I should be off as well. I will see if there is anything at all I can do to expedite this process.” Dumbledore looked at Lily and James sternly. “I trust you two to remain here until we return with news.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Lily and James chorused.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Try not to worry, my dears. Rest assured, all will turn out well, I’m sure of it.”

And with that, the Hogwarts Headmaster vanished with a crack, leaving four life-long friends in the room alone.

Remus heaved a sigh. “I’ll go put on a pot of tea.” He slowly rose to his feet and padded out of the room.

James looked back toward the smoky image of his son. Harry and the vampire had both moved out of the firelit parlor and were now in a large, well-lit bathroom. Strange metal objects and bottles of clear liquid were laid out on a tray beside the sink. _Muggle first-aid tools?_ James thought, remembering Lily’s descriptions of what he perceived as barbaric tactics.

“How long will you be staying?” the vampire, Trefor, asked.

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Harry said with a chuckle. Harry took off his ripped, blood-soaked shirt slowly, wincing. Trefor’s eyes went blood-red for a moment, his lips curling up to reveal pointed fangs, but he took a deep, steadying breath to compose himself, and slowly the red dissipated.

James sucked in his breath through his teeth. Though Harry’s injuries no longer bled, they looked terrible. The wounds left by that monster’s claws were angry, red gouges running along up and down Harry’s back and chest. The stinger wounds looked the worst. They were red and swollen and puckered, with black tendrils spiraling out from the center.

“If not you, then certainly the head.” Mimir let out an annoyed sigh, but wisely said nothing more. “You’re injured, maybe you should stay here a while to heal up? These really are terrible, Harry,” Trefor gestured toward the stings. The vampire grabbed the bottle of clear liquid and carefully poured some onto Harry’s wounds and began cleaning them out with a white, cotton cloth. James felt himself tense as his son hissed in pain.

Harry waved away Trefor’s concern. “I can’t, I have a few…” he paused, thinking of the word, “errands to run.”

“Harry, you can’t go out in your condition!”

“I’ll be fine.” Trefor peered at his unconvinced. “I’ll be fine!” Harry repeated emphatically. “This is hardly the worst thing that’s happened to me.” James didn’t even want to think about what that could mean. “Just patch me up and I’ll be on my way.”

Trefor reached toward the tray and grabbed what looked like a small hook with thread attached to one end, and two pairs of forceps. He pinched the threaded hook with one of the forceps, held the sharpened tip perpendicular to one of the claw wounds and slowly pushed the hook through, grabbing it with the other forceps as it reemerged on the other side of the wound.

“What the fuck is he doing to him?” Sirius shouted as the vampire pulled the thread through.

“It’s all right, Sirius,” Lily soothed, “it’s just stitches. They’re a Muggle technique. It’ll help him heal and prevent infection.”

Sirius didn’t look comforted and the news was certainly of no consolation to James. _Why didn’t Harry just come home?_ James thought. _St Mungo’s could heal that up, no problem. Hell, even Madame Pomfrey could do a better job that damn Muggle stitches._

“You’re a wizard, Harry—” Trefor began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Harry interrupted dryly. Trefor glared at him and Harry raised his hands in defeat, a cheeky grin painting his face.

“Why don’t you just heal yourself? Hell, you’re supposed to be immortal, why aren’t they healing on their own?”

“Ah,” Harry said in understanding. “These wounds were dealt by a manticore, a divine creature. It will take more than mortal magic to heal them,” Harry explained. “As to why they aren’t healing on their own, manticores are venomous, its interfering with my ability to heal. So, unfortunately, it looks like I’m going to have to get through this the old-fashioned way.” Harry sighed. “A shame, because it hurts like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I still think you should stay here while you heal,” Trefor said as he continued to stitch Harry’s wounds closed.

“It will be fine. Besides, I only have one thing left to do and it won’t be too difficult.”

“What is it?”

Harry look a moment to answer, considering Trefor’s reflection in the mirror. “I’m going to kill Lord Voldemort,” he said without preamble.

“He’s going to do _what_?!” Remus shouted, having finally returned carrying a tray of tea. The rest of the party had no words, simply gawking in response.

_He’s going to kill_ Voldemort?? _What is he thinking, he’ll get himself killed!!_ James thought.

“What?” The vampire jolted in surprise. “The dark wizard? Are you insane!” For once James was glad the vampire was there, maybe he could talk some sense into his son.

“Please,” Harry said with disgust. “Tom Riddle is not threat to _me_ , even like this.”

“So, what, you’re just going to show up and murder him? Doesn’t he keep those stupid Death Eaters around?” With the wounds sutured, Trefor began winding long ribbons of white bandage around Harry’s torso.

“That won’t be an issue.”

“It won’t?”

“It won’t,” Harry said with conviction. “Let’s just say I have a better grasp on magic than most. Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters won’t be an issue.”

Trefor tied a knot on the bandages, securing them in place. “All right,” he said, “all done.”

“Thanks, Trefor,” Harry said as they both walked out of the bathroom. “I should be going now.”

“Now?” Trefor questioned incredulously. “Shouldn’t you at least rest a little?”

“No, I’d rather just get this all over with.”

Trefor regarded Harry with a fire in his eyes, looking like he was ready to argue, but his shoulders slumped as he conceded. “Promise you’ll be careful?”

“I’ll be fine. And thank you for all your help.”

“What does he mean he’s going to kill _Voldemort?_ ” Lily nearly screeched. The entire group was agitated, Sirius had resumed his pacing, Remus had begun to bite his nails. James felt like he couldn’t breathe. He had only felt this kind of fear once before when Voldemort had broken into his home. He felt like he was going to lose Harry all over again. “We have to stop him!!”

“No, Lily, we can’t,” Remus’s voice was strained, as if he was forcing the words out unwillingly.

“What do you mean ‘we can’t’?” Lily got to her feet angrily, fire burning in her eyes as if she thought she could set Remus ablaze for uttering such a thing by simply glaring at him. “He’s my _son!_ I’m not going to let him go off to his _death!_ ”

“Lily, we have to listen to Dumbledore,” Remus reasoned. “He told us to wait here for more information. We can’t just go running off!”

“What, so we’re just going to let him go off on his own to face _Voldemort?_ ” Lily yelled back. James wanted to help, but his voice caught in his throat.

“She’s right, we can’t just leave him!” Sirius joined the argument.

“And do what?” Remus asked calmly, but his eyes were shimmering with emotion. “He’s all the way in Moldova, we can’t get there from here. And even if he’s going to Lord Voldemort, we have no idea where his hideout is. There is _nothing_ we can do.” Remus moved toward Lily and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, looking at her with a tear-soaked gaze. “I want nothing more than to go rushing after him, believe me. But we just can’t. The only thing we can do is wait. I’m sorry, Lily.”

Tears began to douse the fire in her eyes. “He’s my baby. He’s my baby. I can’t just leave him!” She tried to keep her composure, but sobs thickened her voice. James stood from his seat and approached his wife and embraced her.

“It’ll be alright, Lily,” he murmured in her ear, running a soothing hand down her back. “He’ll be okay. He faced that beast and he’s still here. He’ll be all right.” James wished he could believe his words.

James watched over Lily’s shoulder as Harry said his good-byes to the vampire and disapparated.

When Harry reappeared, he stood before a large imposing manor. Its walls were dull and grey, like something out of those horror movies Lily used to go on about. Before his son stood the lair of Lord Voldemort.

James felt like he couldn’t breathe.


End file.
